


The Mom Friend

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Babysitting, Daddy Kink, Don't Let The Tags Fool You This Is Safe For Work, Foster Parents, Kinktober 2019, Post-Canon, Post-Canon - Aged Up Characters, Roommates, Wholesome Safe For Work Content In My Kinktober? Heck Yeah, daddy - Freeform, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 02:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: There is no one in the entire world Yahaba would rather spend his life with than Shirabu Kenjirou, but if their daughter calls Shirabu "daddy" before she calls Yahaba "daddy," he may need to kill him.





	The Mom Friend

Yahaba admits he doesn’t play fair. Hand pressed against Shirabu’s cheek, pushing him as far away as he can, he makes silly faces, hoping to gain some traction. Before him, the baby giggles and claps her hands.

But somehow, Shirabu is worse.

Shoving Yahaba aside, he holds out a piece of yogurt candy, and Usagi’s eyes shine. Droll dribbles down her chin. Reaching for the candy, she coos out a sound nowhere near human.

“Cheater.”

“How?” Shirabu challenges, handing her the candy with a frown.

Scooping the baby into his arms, Yahaba cradles her against his chest, swaying gently. “You can’t just buy her love.”

Shirabu stares at him long and hard. “What do you call that then?”

“_Affection_.” Yahaba kisses the top of her head. “This is called _affection_, Kenjirou.”

“Go fu—”

“Children,” Yahaba snaps. He presses her head to his chest, covering her ears.

Honestly, this shouldn’t be a competition between them. While they’re both new to the idea of raising a foster child, Yahaba adjusted faster. With ease, he trades out manga for parenting books, learning the importance of the different types of strollers. When Usagi wakes up crying in the middle of the night, it is only with an admirably small amount of cursing that he drags himself out of bed to attend to her.

And yet, Usagi holds out her hands to Shirabu until Yahaba reluctantly lets her crawl into his waiting arms.

Yahaba glares. “She just wants you for your candy.”

Usagi bops Shirabu’s nose with her tiny finger. “Are you speaking from personal experience, Shigeru?” Pulling out his bag of treats, he offers her another yogurt snack.

Yahaba rolls his eyes and leans against the couch. Toys sprawl out across the floor. Selecting a nice, colorful rattle, he shakes it, relishing the glare Shirabu gives him when he loses Usagi’s attention.

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Yahaba knows Shirabu has his own special way with kids. He doesn’t sway or rock Usagi, but he nestles her in his arms, like it’s the most comfortable place in the world. Not even the rattle is enough to convince her to leave the safe haven he provides.

Dropping the rattle, Yahaba knows he has to think fast. If Shirabu starts singing, he’ll lose all chances of winning this battle, at least, until after nap time. The steady vibrations of his voice will knock her out for a good hour or two.

“Usagi,” he whispers, scooting closer. He holds out his finger, and she grips it with her entire hand. It fills his chest with a special kind of far spreading warmth, the type that tells him he’ll never be ready to let her go.

Shirabu’s eyes narrow.

Yahaba smirks. Covering his eyes, he asks, “Where’s the baby?”

Usagi giggles.

Lowering his hands, he tickles her stomach, and she erupts into high pitched laughter. “There she is!”

“There’s a special place in hell for people like you,” Shirabu whispers.

Yahaba scoops her out of his arms. He holds her above his head, and she throws her arms up wide as if she’s an angel flying through the sky. “Daddy loves you.”

Shirabu kicks him.

Wincing, Yahaba asks, “Who am I?”

Usagi blinks at him.

“Say ‘daddy,’ Usagi,” Yahaba coaxes. “You can do it.”

Usagi opens her mouth, and Yahaba holds his breath.

“Juice!”

Shirabu throws his fists up in victory. Heaving a sigh, Yahaba sets her down. Almost. He almost had it this time.

Not trusting Shirabu alone in the kitchen where he could rearm his arsenal of snacks, Yahaba heads to the refrigerator for her sippy cup.

Of course, she could be too young to talk. Speech doesn’t begin at the same age in all children, his parenting books assure him. Or maybe she’s mute, and this contest is all just a waste of time they can look back and laugh about one day. Pulling out his phone, Yahaba looks up the price of sign language books.

Laughter drifts in from the living room, and panic surges through Yahaba’s chest. Shirabu could be winning! He runs out of the kitchen. Remembering the juice, he quickly sprints back and grabs it.

In the living room, Shirabu lays on the floor. Usagi stacks blocks on his stomach in some kind of baby ritual. She places each one down with great consideration. Dutifully, Shirabu moves only his thumb as he scrolls through restaurant reviews on his phone.

“Baa says the sheep,” Shirabu mumbles, and the block tower wobbles.

“Baa!”

“Woof says the dog.”

“Oof!”

Yahaba leans against the doorway. She’s definitely not mute. He thinks of deleting the sign language books from his cart, but anxiety stops him. She could still need speech therapy. Do they make books for that?

Taking a screenshot of a review, Shirabu texts it to the group chat. A moment later, Yahaba’s phone vibrates, first with the arrival of the image, then six more times as Futakuchi and Terushima insist that poorly written reviews do not count as memes.

From the satisfied look on his face, Yahaba knows Shirabu got the notifications, too.

“Moo says the cow,” he continues, carefully unstacking the blocks.

“Ooh!”

He rolls onto his stomach and kisses her forehead. “Daddy says the baby.”

Yahaba gasps.

Giggling, Usagi says, “Gan! Gan!” Obligingly, Shirabu kisses her forehead again.

Yahaba sighs in relief. That was way too close. It a was a genius idea though, and Yahaba tucks the plan away in his memory in case he can use it later when Shirabu isn’t around to stop him.

Joining them on the alphabet carpet, Yahaba pulls Usagi onto his lap. “Who’s the best baby?”

“E!” Usagi answers.

Still on his side, Shirabu bops her nose. “Me,” he sounds the word out.

“Me,” Usagi repeats. Shirabu grins, and her face splits into a bright toothless smile.

“Who’s the smartest baby?” Yahaba asks.

“Me!” Usagi giggles. Yahaba hands her the sippy cup.

She can answer questions. As far as he can tell, she understands how speech works. Before long, she’ll have the animal sounds down, neatly tucked away in her reservoir of other important words right alongside “juice” and “toy” and the ever impressive “cookie.”

So why is the word “daddy” taking longer?

Shirabu thumps his arm. “You’re overthinking.”

“I am not,” Yahaba lies.

“She’ll say it when she’s ready.” Shirabu sits up. “And when she is, she’ll say it to me first.”

“No way.”

“Face the facts, Shigeru.”

Yahaba rolls his eyes.

Shirabu’s hand dips beneath Yahaba’s chin, sliding up to nestle against his cheek. Yahaba tries to look away, but Shirabu pulls him closer until their forehead bump together, leaving nowhere to escape to. “She’s going to be okay,” he promises.

Still on his lap, Usagi reaches up and tugs on the drawstrings of Shirabu’s hoodie.

Shirabu drags his thumb in lazy circles along Yahaba’s cheek, keeping him from getting distracted by his thoughts. In the gentle warmth of his touch, Yahaba understands why this became a competition to begin with, one that Shirabu is clearly winning, because even without parenting books and knowledge on fancy strollers, he’s still the first one out of bed every time she cries, silent and calm, reminding her that no matter what, he will always be there to make sure she’s okay.

“Yeah,” Yahaba agrees. “I know.”

“Good.” Shirabu draws back, but not without placing a kiss on the tops of each of their heads.

Picking up Usagi, Yahaba stands and stretches, an art he has perfected with many weeks of practice. “Who’s babysitting today?”

Shirabu checks his phone, flipping smoothly between three apps. “Iwaizumi. He says he’s walking up the driveway now.”

Right on time, the door opens, Iwaizumi stepping inside and toeing off his shoes. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You have never been late before in your life,” Shirabu states, and Yahaba silently agrees.

Iwaizumi shrugs. Holding out his hands, he reaches for Usagi.

Usagi beams. “Daddy!”

Yahaba freezes.

Shirabu tenses up, his head turning first to Usagi, then to Yahaba.

Like a string snapping in half, Yahaba wilts. He hands her to him, defeated. “We’ve been outmatched.”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrows. “What?”

Shirabu nods. “We never stood a chance.”

“Guys?” Iwaizumi looks between the two of them. “What are you talking about?”

Yahaba places a consoling hand on Shirabu’s shoulder, and he pats Yahaba’s back reassuringly. “Iwaizumi-san’s parent vibes are too strong.”


End file.
